“I have one other suggestion, my boy.”
“What’s that?”
“Go across to the Abbey, while they are away, and try to find out what is going on there. I feel certain that the focus of the whole foul business lies on Kestrel.”
Hamilton uncovered his face, fresh hope dawning in his eyes.
“I’ll go tomorrow,” he said eagerly; “where can I get a boat?”
“I’ll speak to one of my choirmen. He’ll take you across. Shall I come with you?”
“No, Father, I’ll go alone, if you don’t mind. I feel, somehow, that it is my responsibility.”
“Very well. I shall pray most earnestly for you. Come to Mass tomorrow.”
“I will. May I make my confession tonight?”
“Of course. We will go into church when you leave here. Now shall we join Valerie? Not a word to her, naturally.”
Composing their features, and resolutely thrusting aside the black thoughts which crowded their minds, they returned to the study.
II
For the third time in five minutes Hamilton ducked to avoid the swinging boom as the little boat changed its course. There was a slight rain falling in the stiff wind, and he sat huddled in his mackintosh, feeling rather miserable. The man at the tiller, his pipe inverted to keep out the wet, hardly spoke at all, but concentrated on the difficult job of tacking against the wind.
Half-way across they sighted the Abbey launch, with Tom Tregellis at the wheel, and the two boatmen exchanged a hail. The mist of rain made observation difficult, but Hamilton fancied he could make out another figure crouched in the bottom of the launch. He was still wondering who it could be when they ran into smooth water in the lee of the island, and the brown sail hung limp. The fisherman got out his oars and began to row strongly for the harbour mouth.
It was dank and cold within the sheltering rocks, and Hamilton’s spirits sank even lower as he stood up and prepared to jump for the landing-stage.
When he had accomplished this feat in safety, he gave his instructions to the man who had brought him across:
“Wait for me. If I’m not back in an hour, go back and tell Father Bennett.”
The man nodded silently, and began to refill his pipe. Hamilton started on the long climb up to the Abbey.
The wicket in the outer door was latched, but yielded to pressure, and he stepped through into the courtyard. Here it was very gloomy, and the narrow window-slits of the building frowned at him like so many suspicious eyes. An indefinable chill settled upon his heart, but he took his courage in both hands and crossed resolutely to the inner door. Mounting the steps leading up to it, he pulled the bell. After a little interval there was a sound of bolts being withdrawn, the door opened a crack, and Lorrimer’s frightened face peered out at him. Recognizing the visitor, he brightened remarkably, and, opening the door wide, besought him to enter.
Once inside, and the door secured again, he spoke to Hamilton in a husky, fearful voice.
“I’m very glad to see you, sir, and that’s the truth. I didn’t hardly know what to do. Come through into the kitchen, sir, if you don’t mind. The missus’ll be that pleased.”
Mrs. Lorrimer welcomed Hamilton with no less warmth, taking off his wet coat and giving him a chair beside the fire. When his pipe was going satisfactorily he asked Lorrimer to tell him exactly what was the matter.
“It’s Mr. Tony, sir — I mean Sir Anthony, and those other two,” the old servant burst out; “I don’t know what they’re up to, but I don’t like it. That Mr. Vaughan stays down in the crypt all day; and Sir Anthony and Dr. Gaunt, cooped up in the library with all them books — it’s not natural, sir. I’ve had a look at some of their books, too, sir, after they’ve gone to bed — I know I shouldn’t have, but I felt I must. And they’re not good books. It’s my belief, sir, that they’re leading Sir Anthony astray somehow.”
“Is that all you have to tell me, Lorrimer?” asked Hamilton, as the other paused for breath.
“No, sir, not by half. There’s other things besides — things that Mr. Tony don’t know about. I’m generally up pretty early in the morning, sir, and time and again I’ve seen the doctor and his friend come up out of the crypt, long before Sir Anthony was awake. They came close by me once, and their clothes smelt of that stuff they burn in Popish churches — incense they call it. What have they been up to so early? — that’s what I asks myself, sir. No good, I’ll be bound. And now they’ve gone off, taking the master with them, and leaving us alone. We don’t like it, sir.”
“You’ve been left here before, surely?”
“No, sir, not for longer than a day since old Sir Anthony first brought us from London with him. Besides, it’s different now. Can’t you feel it, sir? The place feels different.”
Hamilton leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to get in touch with the atmosphere of the Abbey, but he could only feel the warmth of the fire, and smell his own tobacco-smoke. Lorrimer watched him, saying:
“No, sir, you won’t feel anything here. It’s kind of home-like with the missus and me living here, but in the hall it’s terrible sometimes. A sort of nasty feeling, like as if you was in a heathen temple. You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you, my dear?” He addressed the last question to his wife.
“Yes, Mr. Hamilton, sir, it’s quite right what he says,” she replied; “we daren’t go out of here after dark, not into the hall we daren’t. We hadn’t used to be afraid, not when the old master was alive, in spite of the tales they told, but it’s changed now. Like as if something had woken up.”
“Hush, my dear,” her husband broke in, “you mustn’t say things like that. There’s a God above who’ll take care of us — we needn’t be afraid. But Sir Anthony don’t think as we do, sir — he’s not a religious man, and some harm might come to him.”
While he had been speaking a thought had been stirring in Hamilton’s brain. Now it crystallized, and he voiced it:
“Where is Johnston, Sir Anthony’s man, Lorrimer? What’s he think of all this?”
“I was coming to that, sir: he’s gone; went this morning.”
“So that was whom I saw in the launch. Why did he go?”
“Said he couldn’t stick it no longer, sir. Said he’d been in some queer places in his time, but none so queer as this. He’d been whittling for quite a while now, but last night finished him.”
“What happened last night?” Hamilton inquired.
Lorrimer looked uneasily at his wife.
“We heard it again, sir,” said he, “like on the night Sir Anthony died.”
“Heard what?”
“I don’t know what it was, sir, and I hope to God I shan’t ever know. It’d be about one o’clock this morning, wouldn’t it, my dear?”
His wife assented, and he went on:
“It woke us up, sir: a sort of shaking of the whole building, like an earthquake; and then such a hullabaloo as you never heard, sir. A kind of shouting and a bellowing, as if all hell was let loose under us. We heard it before, the night the old master died, but not near so bad as this.”
“What did you do?” Hamilton was intensely interested.
“What could we do, sir? Nothing; just lay still and prayed for sunrise. The noise stopped after a bit, but the trembling went on for hours. It finished Johnston, as I told you, sir. Wouldn’t listen to reason. Just up and went as soon as Tom was ready to take him.”
“Amazing, Lorrimer! You’re quite sure it wasn’t the sea, or the wind, or something like that?”
“Oh, no, sir” — the servant shook his head decidedly — “the sea was a bit rough and the wind was blowing, but you couldn’t call it a storm even. Besides, the noise seemed to come from beneath, in the rock itself.”